


Is There No Balm for Gilead

by 3amepiphany



Series: Drabbles 'n Bits [16]
Category: On The Rain-Slick Precipice Of Darkness, Penny Arcade
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: some curses beat upon the senses like ravens on chamber doors.





	Is There No Balm for Gilead

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something i spat out this morning as an exercise with no intention of continuing bc i know it’s going to turn into a 50k behemoth like the other story is with no actual end in sight so
> 
> blah  
> http://billetdouxnondistribue.tumblr.com/post/172000647007/just-a-little-something-i-spat-out-this-morning-as

“So is it an actual language?”

Tycho sat there in the dirt, rubbing at his face a bit in frustrated contemplation.

“Tycho.”

“Yes? I’m sorry.” He looked up. Gabriel was looking up at the tree, not down at him; the scholar could really only focus on the clenching and unclenching of the brawler’s fist as the question was repeated. “Well, yes and no. Birds have no concept of language as we know it to be. But they do have a language of sorts.”

“Would you consider laughter to be language? They’ve got to understand laughter.”

“I imagine they might. Why do you ask that?”

“Because I feel like they’re laughing at us.”

Tycho let his gaze move from Gabe to the ravens sitting in the tree, and listened.

There were so many of them that they seemed to create a wide, swathing canopy of foliage, black as india ink and with a slight iridescent sheen as they shifted and preened, and hopped about and fluttered. The tree itself was barren of of leaves, a giant gnarled mess that looked to be more root than trunk and branch, and it held the weight of this magnificent murder without the slightest bow. Strong was this curse, indeed. And the town below the hill, sitting in the shadow of this odd sight, knew it and showed its exhaustion against it clearly - every structure in the town seemed to sag and lean away from the hill, darkened and full of exaggerated shadows. But it was utterly silent. There was nothing to actually hear.

He studied the collection of items at the base of the tree: small toys. Jewelry. Little bones that appeared to be phalangeal. Teeth. There were no bits of lips or tongues yet, which was a good sign.

Nevertheless, this was going to take a lot longer than he’d initially quoted.


End file.
